


Fortune's Fools

by apple_pi



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Unlikely Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-26
Updated: 2005-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never complained, not when Bonden made him do it twelve times in a row, not when the coxswain drilled him about the parts of the ship or made him say the name of every rope attached to the topmast staysail before he could eat his dinner.<br/>Dom did it, hands behind his back like a schoolboy at his recitations, and Bonden’s messmates laughed to see it. Barrett Bonden grinned, though, and patted the bench, allowing Dominic to sit.<br/>Dom smiled, too, and he didn’t complain as he sat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune's Fools

“Come now, you can do better than that,” Barrett Bonden chided. “Over and under, round and through, simple as kiss-my-hand.” He slapped at Dominic’s hands when they fumbled in their work, nodded in satisfaction when the loops came easier and tightened into a passable knot, lumpy though it might be. “Aye, that’s it,” he said. “Now again, and again until it looks less like something on a Dutch-built slab-sided herring-catching slut of a tub.”

The Dubliner didn’t complain. He never complained, not when Bonden made him do it twelve times in a row, not when the coxswain drilled him about the parts of the ship or made him say the name of every rope attached to the topmast staysail before he could eat his dinner.

Dom did it, hands behind his back like a schoolboy at his recitations, and Bonden’s messmates laughed to see it. Barrett Bonden grinned, though, and patted the bench, allowing Dominic to sit.

Dom smiled, too, and he didn’t complain as he sat.

“Smartest waister I ever saw,” Bonden said proudly. “Two weeks ago he’s puking his guts into the Sound, and now ‘e’s splicing better’n Davies.”

“That’s no great victory,” said Bowles, and even Dominic laughed, agreeing. 

“What’d ‘e do before the press gang?” asked Parrigin, and Bonden slapped the back of the yeoman’s head. 

“Ask him, he’s not a mute.”

“I was a bookbinder,” Dom said when the chuckle died down. “Worked at a bindery near Dublin.”

“Oh me,” drawled Bowles, “then what’re you doing here with us? That must take learning.”

“Bookbinding… it’s a trade like any other,” the new man said, not taking offense. “Some who did it were as stupid as any half-wit waister.” Approving nods at this, and Dom went on. “But aye, I’ve some learning.” He smiled, raising one eyebrow, daring someone to disagree.

“So educate us, idler,” said Harris.

Dom turned a wicked eye upon him, the smile gone too sweet for all that his jaw was crooked and too strong by half. Bonden felt his stomach tighten, but ah well. The lad must learn who to bait and who to let be, Harris among the latter group. Barrett Bonden kept his lips closed.

“Well, I remember one book did mention a fellow reminded me of you,” Dominic said.

“What’d it say?” That was Bowles, egging the confrontation on, a grin upon his ugly, cheerful face.

“It went summat like this: _Some report a sea-maid spawn’d him; some that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice_.” The words were spoken clearly, with a certain measure of grace; Dominic’s audience was nothing if not appreciative.

“Is he making fun of me?” Harris growled over the laughter, standing, balanced easily against the roll of the ship.

“No,” Dom assured him. “If I were making fun of you, I’d have used a different quotation, something like, _Drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine drunk, and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bedclothes about him_.”

A roar of approval greeted this and what happened next was so quick that Barrett hardly saw it. The seamen, prepared one and all, had lifted their wooden mess kits from harm’s way. Harris lunged; Dom ducked, sliding from the bench to stand behind it. Harris kept coming, big as the barge and half as smart, as another sailor had once said—and it was over before it had begun. Two neat, swift punches from the new lad and Harris fell.

The air was full of noise—Harris’s bellowing, the laughter and catcalls of the watch, Dom’s curses as he laughed and shook his right hand. A shrill young voice cut across it all—young midshipman Callow, come to see what the fuss was about.

Bonden sprang up and spirited Dominic back, through the ranks of sailors who were grinning, closing forces so their escape left no ripple, no eddy in the sea of men.

“Harris tripped and fell, sir,” they heard Parrigin say, and Callow’s piping treble demanding was it true. 

“Aye, sir,” came Harris’s sullen reply, and Bonden pulled Dominic back and down a hatch into the lowest level of the barky.

“You weren’t jesting when you said you’d sparred,” Bonden said, reaching up to close the hatch, grinning up and through it at a mate’s face as the other sailors moved to stand on the wooden door.

“Why would I?” the Irishman asked, stepping beneath the thin line of light that leaked from around the edges of the closed hatch. “You don’t get a jaw this crooked by luck or birth.” He looked ruefully at the broken skin on the back of his hands.

“I dunno.” Bonden came closer, extending his hand for the other man’s. “You seem too sharp, too clever to’ve been a bare-knuckles fighter.”

“Well, s’been a bit of a time.” Dom let the coxswain take his hand. “As you can see.” Despite the thin smile, his voice was tense, and his hand trembled just a bit in Barrett’s palm.

“Ah, this is nothing.” The sailor eyed the scrapes dispassionately, then let Dominic’s hand fall. “You’re as high-strung as a race-horse. Why so nervous?” He glanced at the younger man’s face; stopped.

“I’m not—” Monaghan began, but Barrett nodded.

“Like that, is it?” His voice was kind, the lilt pronounced.

Dom’s face fell with practiced ease into its usual cheerful lines. “Like what?” Bonden admired him for it—few men wore such a complete disguise. “How d’you suppose I shall keep Harris from killing me in my sleep?”

“It’s all right, you know.” Barrett stayed where he was, not daring to step closer. He’d no fear of the lad despite his display of talent in the fighting line; Barrett Bonden had been champion boxer of the home fleet, and any blow the idler might aim would certainly not land. No, Barrett stayed still because he feared his own reaction to Dominic. Feared his suddenly over-hasty pulse, and the want in his hands—not new, no, but given new power suddenly—to touch the other man’s face.

“I doubt it’s all right,” Dom said, lips quirked in a wry smile. “I’ve no desire to have Harris or any other man aboard as an enemy.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Bonden said doggedly. Who knew when they’d have privacy like this again? Even if the lad’s fancy settled on another, he should understand the customs—unwritten laws—of the thing from someone who would be honest with him. Better he should learn the ways of those living before the mast from one who would speak kindly, as Barrett would, than from the bawdy, ugly talk; or worse yet, learn them too late.

“What do you speak of, if not that?” Dom’s eyes glinted in the half-light; his face revealed nothing.

“Listen, lad—can you listen, then?”

Wary—honest: “Yes.”

“Your nerves—what you’re wanting to do. When, when I touched you.” Bonden inhaled. “At sea, things are, things are different.” He cocked his head, willing the younger man to understand. “Far from land—from women, you understand? The men grow desperate, or they grow close.” He opened his hands, looking for the right words; for all they said he had the gift of speech as well as any Irishman, easy phrases dried away when faced with this particular Dubliner. “But there’s none can force you. D’you understand? That’s not—not done.”

“I see.” And Dominic did not bother pretending to misunderstanding now; he did see. But his face held only aloof attention; his shoulders were drawn up, angular and proud. “That’s good to know.” He turned, hands already searching for the companionway ladder.

“Are you sure?” Bonden wondered if he did. Wondered uneasily if he had misjudged the lad. 

“I am.” Dom looked over his shoulder at the coxswain, shadows carving his face into a quiet mask. “When the men are far from shore and the fairer sex, they turn to sodomy for distraction.” A flicker of—hurt? Disgust? Then the stillness returned, as though it had never been broken. “And when ladies are present, such distractions become unnecessary.”

Bonden blinked. “Only—” he said to the boy’s back— “only sometimes a sailor may have a particular friend… And they remain particular friends.” The shoulders, broad above that narrow back, tensed; Dom froze, one hand on the step. Barrett swallowed and went on: “Even on shore, two tie-mates might rather spend time with one another. At sea…” He struggled for the words, staring down at his own bare feet on the dank, spongy wood. “At sea, sometimes the friendships grow tender. And you should, you should understand that, too.”

Dom had come back. When Barrett looked up, the young man stood before him again. A thin line of light fell across his hair, shaggy now, weeks from port.

“What if I have always preferred the company of men in my bed to that of women?” Dom said it quietly, no tremor in his voice despite the furrow between his brows. “What does custom say of that?”

Barrett regarded him evenly and then smiled, a little wicked, a little sweet. “It says you’re a hell-damned sodomite. Like me.” He watched Dominic closely. “But it’s different before the mast. If a captain or an officer should cast his eyes toward a sailor on the lower deck, then goddamn him and thrice-damn that sailor. But between us—” he touched Dom’s chest and then his own— “it’s different.”

“It rarely is,” the younger man said bitterly, but his eyes—his eyes spoke different words, and fairer. His eyes fixed upon Barrett Bonden’s mouth, and stayed there.

“It isn’t simple, for all that it’s different,” Barrett said quietly. “I’m not educated—it was only a few years ago that I learnt my letters, sitting in the foretop with the Doctor. But I can see some things clear.”

And there was no need to say more, nor any way to, neither, for Dom was on him, hands pressed upon the sides of his head, mouth latched almost cruelly upon Barrett’s.

Hard, yes, and fierce—but desperate, too, and that stayed it from cruelty. Bonden staggered back, pushing the boy away and holding him near all at once.

“Steady on, there, slow down, let us show tenderness,” Bonden murmured, and he covered Dominic’s choked sob with his lips, pressing gentle fingertips into the lank, soft hair at the young man’s temples, sliding his fingers around to cup the fragile curve of his skull. Barrett kissed him soft and deep until the trembling slowed, until Dom’s half-angry, half-pleading sounds all smoothed to nearly silent hums of pleasure, until his breath came quick with desire, not desperation, body pressed against Barrett’s from hips to mouth.

“Now, lad,” said the coxswain. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” Dominic said, curling into Barrett’s loose embrace, face tucked against his neck. “I’ve wanted to since I first saw you, almost, and wished, and just—burned.” His voice softened, faded almost to nothing. “I hate this, I hate that this is the way of it for me.”

“Is it so terrible?” Barrett stroked Dominic’s hair, tightened his arms around the narrow body. “I find myself somewhat selfishly glad that you are as I am.” He smiled at the small snort of laughter this wrung from his protégé. “More than somewhat glad.” He drew back, tipped Dom’s chin up.

“Have we time? Is it safe?” Dominic’s eyes spoke of something more than a kiss, as did the hardness against Bonden’s hip, and Barrett felt his own desire surge from his belly, out and down, heating him further yet.

He restrained himself, though his hands wandered to light on Dom’s hips. “Tis a make-and-mend day, and no one will come a-calling for us just yet,” he replied slowly. “Where we are… no. But there—” he glanced beyond Dom, to the great coils of rope in the darkness beneath the deck— “there we would be private, if not exactly luxurious.”

Dom was kissing him again, mouth hot and wanting on Barrett’s neck, and the older man closed his eyes against the assault, trying to steady his breathing, wanting to make sure of Dominic’s need. “Wait, wait,” Bonden muttered, pulling away, hands still stubbornly closed on the lad’s body though he’d meant to let go. “Do you know what you ask? Have you… been taken by a man, this way, before?” He would not give himself to this young firebrand so easily—it would have to be his way, if it was to be at all, and the thought of possessing Dominic, of taking him, made Barrett’s knees weaken, his belly twist with want.

“Please,” Dom said, eyes flashing in the dim light. Footsteps moved above, the men going back to their duties, dinner over. “I have, I have, I want it. Need you.” He breathed it, leaning forward, pressing his mouth to Barrett’s cheek and jaw. He whispered into his ear: “Want to feel you, have you inside me, please. Please.”

“It would take a stronger man than I to deny you,” Bonden rasped, grabbing for Dom’s hand, pulling him around the companionway ladder and into the cramped space where the hull sloped up to meet the deck. “Come here, come here.” He led him over one great heap of rope into the center of the coil, a space barely large enough for them, even clinging tight to one another as they were almost instantly. “I knew a sailor hid a girl here,” Bonden said, silent laughter gusting into Dominic’s seeking mouth even as his hands trembled on the ties of the younger man’s nankeen trousers.

“I’m no girl,” Dominic growled, placing Barrett’s hand square upon his prick. “And neither are you.” Bonden groaned and pushed his erection against Dom’s thigh, squeezing Dom’s length through the cloth, pushing the trousers down in a hasty, fumbling rush. “Hurry, hurry—” The mumbled words faded, drowned in the kisses Dominic lavished on Barrett’s mouth.

They coupled in a hasty, frenzied rush, despite Barrett’s desire to slow down, slow down. Sunk within the tight heat of Dominic’s body, the younger man’s low hoarse voice begging Barrett to _hurry, hurry_ , exhorting him for _more, faster, please oh please_ , Barrett found he had no defence, no way to resist. Even as some part of his mind shouted at him to delay, to dally, to savour, the sailor obeyed, gripped prominent hip bones, slammed inward again and again in a violent collision that had them both gasping, sobbing for breath in the fetid dark of the hold. And when Dominic came, spilling with a strangled cry over Barrett’s tight-gripping hand, the older man muffled his moan against the sweaty skin of Dom’s back and followed, hips jerking forward in four arrhythmic thrusts as the pleasure shuddered through and out of him.

Dominic lay where he was, half-standing against the great wall of cabling, head pillowed on his arms, face turned away into darkness even as his body heaved for breath. Bonden pulled gingerly out and away, sliding sideways to lean against the ropes himself, lungs labouring and heart thundering. “Dominic, have I hurt you?” he whispered when the silence became too great to bear.

“No.” But his face was wet when he lifted it, ravaged and so unprotected Bonden wanted to weep himself, for the pity and the shame. 

“Oh lad, oh lad.” Barrett’s hands reached, retreated. “What have I done?” Nausea twisted his gut and he looked away, closing his eyes.

“Nothing, nothing—” a warm hand, long fingers curled around his arm. “Tisn’t you, oh lord, believe me.”

“Never, I should never have touched you.” Anger boiled up and Bonden jerked his arm away. “Why did you not tell me? Why did you lie?”

“You didn’t hurt me.” His voice, even now, was soft. “I knew what I asked. I wanted.” He touched Barrett again. “Wanted what you gave.”

“So much so that you must cry when it’s given?”

“So much so that I must cry when it’s given,” Dominic replied, face hard again suddenly. “Should I not have trusted you with this? Should I trust a man with my body, who I cannot trust with my tears?”

“Why tears, then?” Bonden asked desperately. “I don’t understand.”

“Must you know?”

Bonden looked at him. “No.” He looked at Dom’s hand on his arm. “I don’t need to know.” He drew in a breath, calming himself. “We should… we should get back.”

“Yes.” Dominic rearranged his clothing, reached with tentative hands to Bonden’s. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

Bonden slapped his hands kindly away. “You did. I thought you’d told me a tale. And I was too rough, no matter what the truth is.” Trousers straightened and shirt tucked in, Barrett climbed over the great heap of cable and waited.

Dominic appeared a moment later, face flushed but composed. “You weren’t too rough, you know.” He grinned, almost cheeky, and Barrett had to fight down a smile. “I liked that part of it.”

“I’d never have known,” Barrett said dryly. “I’ll take some convincing.”

“Will you—” Dom took his arm yet again. “Will you have me again, ever? I promise I’m not usually so—I don’t—ah, bloody hell.” He sighed heavily and this time Barrett did smile, waiting. “I’m usually not quite so unbalanced.” Dom saw his smile and answered it, then turned serious for a moment. “It’s been a long time, since I last trusted someone. And—it didn’t end well, that time.”

“You’re a handsome lad and a scoundrel,” Barrett said quietly. “And I’m fool enough to find you hard to resist, Dominic Monaghan.” He pulled the younger man near. “I dunnae know if we will have another time we can escape like this. But if it should happen, I won’t run away from you.” He kissed him as gently as he knew how, one hand raised to the strong jaw. “But next time you will let me show you tenderness, hmm? And there won’t be tears.”

“Next time,” Dom said, just as low, smiling. “Next time you will have your way.” His expression shifted again. “What will we tell the others, when they ask why we were gone so long?”

“Why I’ll tell them I mistook you for a girl and had my way with you in the cable tiers,” Barrett said. “And they’ll laugh and never believe it of me, of all men.” He grinned. “Have you a quotation for this moment, too?” He led the way back to the ladder. 

Dom followed him, bare feet silent on the decking. “Oh, I am fortune’s fool,” he said quietly. 

Bonden pushed the hatch open and climbed into the dim brightness of the higher deck. “We’re all that, lad.” He reached back and pulled Dominic after him. “At one time or another we all are, from the wisest souls to the silliest bastards that ever took ship.”

“Better to be a fool in company than alone, I hope.” Dom’s face was calm, no trace of tears visible now, and Barrett sighed in relief. 

“It generally is, yes. Come along, get your warm-weather cloth and thread, we’ve others to entertain.”

“Who better to entertain than a pair of fools?” Dominic didn’t seem to expect an answer, and his smile was back in place as he followed Barrett upward, into the sunlight.


End file.
